Retrospect and Consideration
by arenewedsense
Summary: For a while he could be something different, just out of arm's length of the sin that was his own flesh. Which is how Hermione fell into her next bad habit. EWE. HG/DM. WIP
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Out. He needed out.

For the first time, in almost 29 days, he felt an urge to do something beyond laying in his own filth and dejection. That's not to say this was the first time in a month that he had left his pit of despair. It was far too difficult to maintain his Scum of the Earth title without showing his face to the malcontent masses routinely.

No, this was just the first time in weeks he felt the desire to take his self-flagellation tour on the road without the imposition of some duty to the family brand, or repentance to the whole of wizarding-kind. For the first time in recent memory, he was heading out into the bright shiny world willingly. Well, willing-ish.

He wanted out, but not necessarily in the state he was in. The specifics of that notion boiled down to the contents of his pockets, specifically the two flasks. One sloshing merrily with Ogden's Finest, while the second gurgled with Polyjuice a la Muggle.

Draco was well aware this fell in the dark grey area of morality, not to mention that it was probably a violation of his probation. But seeing as he rather not look at himself, he didn't feel inclined to force the same task on Wizarding London. His mother would have been disappointed in this line of thinking, though as he wasn't due for a visit today, he didn't see any reason to hesitate in corking this particular vintage of Postmaster Jack.

As his eyes followed the wiry hair forming across the back of his hand and up his arm, he sighed in relief at the sight of blank skin.

For a while he could be something different, just out of arm's length of the sin that was his own flesh.

xxxxx

Gently, she angled the broom handle toward the dusty textbook, tipping it gently toward the edge. For a second it wavered, seemingly resistant to her intentions, before tumbling down into her arms.

Or rather, almost tumbling into her arms. Shoving back an errant curl, Hermione examined the hidebound book as it levitated just slightly above the stack in her arms.

"It's _Levi-o-sah,_ " came a laughing voice from behind her. "Merlin woman, you're a witch! Try magic!"

"Ronald! You're back!" she grinned, putting the books down on a step stool. Pushing down the lecture on casting magic on magical books, and instead rushing in to the tall ginger for a hug.

"How was your trip!" She stepped back, inspecting him. His tall frame looked comically out of place in the tiny bookstore.

"Alright I guess." Ronald scratched the back of his neck, a sly smile starting to fill his face. "Didn't leave the room much, actually."

"Don't you pin that on me again, Ronald Weasley!" A more-strawberry-than-blond woman laughed, smacking him on the arm.

"Susan!" Hermione again stepped forward for a hug, hoping her split-second hesitation wasn't as glaring as she imagined it to be.

"Right terror, this one." Ronald grinned, wrapping an arm around the petite witch. "Kept me chained to the bedpost."

He was obviously speaking to Hermione, but his eyes were hooked on Susan. Hermione brushed aside the rising ache in her chest, choosing to smile merrily at the couple who had devolved the conversation into besotted bickering.

As they bantered, Hermione's heart clenched. Watching them was quite like watching someone else's memories of yourself through a pensieve. Except in this case, they weren't her memories.

' _Which was your choice.'_ She reminded herself firmly.

"Merlin you two!" She chuckled, trying to hide the rising concoction of melancholy and irritation. "If I hadn't been at the wedding I'd say you've been married twenty years, not two weeks!"

Susan laughed in a way that probably chimed pleasantly to anyone else's ear. To Hermione it was more similar to the grating of glass.

"Sorry Mione," Ron looked anything but ashamed. "Anyways, we wanted to ask when you'll be off tomorrow. Sue and I are having some friends come 'round for a welcome home thing. She's promised me a roast."

The amount of satisfaction on Ronald Weasley's face at that moment was so blinding, Hermione itched to slap it off his face. No one deserved to be that content. But instead she found herself agreeing to attend.

"Merlin Ronnie! We were supposed to meet George ten minutes ago!" Sue started to drag 'Ronnie' out of the storefront, shouting over her shoulder "Lovely seeing you again Mione!"

"You too!" Hermione half-heartedly attempted to respond, while the vein in her forehead throbbed at hearing her moniker slip out of the (possibly) shrill woman's mouth. Just as she started to relax from the emotional invasion, a freckled face popped back through the door.

"Harry said you've been seeing someone! You should bring the bloke for us all to meet!"

Luckily Ronald seemed to miss the terrified expression on Hermione's face, as a stocky customer was pushing past. By the time her sight of the door was clear, Ron was gone.

' _Bring the bloke.'_ She sank to the floor by the bookcase she had been organizing when this whole frightful experience began. ' _Of course. What could go wrong.'_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes: Obviously, I am not J.K. Rowling. As such, I have no claim over the magical world of Harry Potter, or the delightfully multi-faceted characters within it. I'm merely taking them out for a spin, as it were. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

 **Chapter Two  
**

In retrospect, she had fallen into another bad habit. Actually, it was just another in a series of bad habits. Beginning 1,148 days ago.

The first fall, was into bed with Ronald Weasley. It was so simple. She had been in love with him from the moment he wiped troll bogey's off his wand. But eventually the metaphoric concussion faded, and she began to see things she had missed during her descent.

Ronald wanted things from her. Marriage, a home, children. Lots of children. He wanted a family, just like his. In a home, just like his. It was unstated, but understood that he wanted a wife who would be at home, reigning over all of it. Basically he wanted his mother.

Hermione thought, rather unkindly, that Sigmund Freud would have delighted in Ronald Weasley.

182 days in, Ron started talking about buying a house. Paint colors and fence styles, how many rooms for the imaginary children. Hermione felt she had become adept at diverting him from this fantasy with sex. It was far easier than talking about it, than risking his leaving again. She didn't spare much of a thought to that. Freud might have enjoyed her as well.

This may be why she was entirely surprised, 266 days in, to find herself in the run-down kitchenette of a rickety house just five miles away from the Burrow, listening to Ron propose. Listening to Ron propose in the house he had bought, for them.

He had thought they were on the same page, Hermione had never said otherwise. Now that there was no way to avoid it, the repressed resentment boiled over and her fear of abandonment became secondary to unfiltered rage.

Hermione agreed they were on the same page- except in her draft the page was still a few chapters off, and the book wasn't in a library just five miles away from it's mother-in-law.

In retrospect, the analogy may have missed it's ginger mark. Regardless of the why as far as Ronald understood it, Hermione was done. She rejected his proposal, she dismissed his house and this time she left him. Being blindsided as he was, Ron had been heartbroken.

A heartbroken son is evidence enough, in some Molly-Weasley-Type circles, to make a person basically She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

Which is how Hermione fell into her next bad habit. Not that it was a certain matriarch's fault, per se. But being banned from the Burrow Bustle lead to a lot of free time. Free time that wasn't easily filled by her part-time shift at Ratchwonk's Relics, a book store specializing in out of print and antique mystical texts.

She had passed on a repeat year at Hogwarts, an act that at the time had Harry checking her for fevers and rashes. She had justified it by sitting her N.E.W.T.S early, and racking up a score too superior to mention in polite company. The truth was she just hadn't wanted to leave Ron long enough for him to decide to leave her.

The dichotomy of her fear of abandonment, paired with her emotional abandonment of Ronald was not lost on her. Though focusing on it for any amount of time lead to a walls-closing-in sensation that typically only appeared when faced with memories of her parents or heads of black, erratic curls.

Luckily that sensation tended to best be dulled by flame-hot shots of Ogden's. It became a crutch that might have concerned friends and family, had any been around. But Hermione didn't consider that the bad habit. It was what she did when inebriated that was the bad. The awful, downright reprehensible, abhorrent bad.

If she was truly honest, for even a second, it really was just Ronald all over again. Except now there was less starry-eyed future themed pillow talk, and the hair left on her pillow wasn't ginger.

Never ginger.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Strong language ahead! Look out!  
For those who would like some visuals, check out ARenewedSense on Tumblr or Pinterest.  
_

 **Chapter 3  
**

At some point, upon consideration, Draco arrived at what some would argue to be a foregone conclusion: That he might be wrong.

Though he couldn't specify exactly when the sensation of inaccuracy first creeped down his spine and curled inside his gut, he could clearly say _(though never out loud)_ when the impression was identified as that of being wrong. It was somewhere in the 3 seconds before Hermione Granger's fist broke his nose in third year.

In present day, the evidence of his mistakes were about as plain as the slightly crooked sniffer square on his face. That is, to the average man all looked well – but trained eyes could see the slight scar, the small rise, the tiny tilt. Theo and Blaise had questioned his sanity for weeks after that punch, and his ensuing refusal to do anything to remove all evidence of the presumed shame.

What might not have been so blatant was from the moment the cartilage in his nose yielded, something had shifted inside him as well. The shame of being Mudblood Granger's victim fell far behind the realization of his general inferiority.

It was then that the struggle had begun between what he was told to be right and saw to be true. Purebloods were intellectually far superior, except for the muggle born witch topping him in every class. Purebloods were magically far more powerful, except for the half-blood who took down the shining hope of pureblood society, while he simultaneously shat in his nappy. Purebloods were supposed to have superior genetics, yet they could hardly produce a single child per marriage while inbred half-bloods were entering Hogwarts in droves. Purebloods were supposed to be far better looking yet–

' _Well,'_ Draco smirked, ' _Not every theory is perfect.'_

He continued stirring his drink at the counter absentmindedly, glancing around the shop before heading to his favorite corner. On his climb back to his nook, he passed by the curly haired witch he had been musing about. She offered a polite smile and nod that would have been impossible for both of them had he been in his own skin.

Turning the corner into the Muggle Literature aisle, his broke out in a giddy grin that felt uncomfortable in its sheer size.

' _How do people smile like this?'_ He mused, settling into his usual armchair before pulling out the Ogden's flask to spike his cuppa. " _The amount of air circulating in my mouth almost cancels out my mirth entirely."_

Grabbing the Tolkien text he had been working through for the past few weeks, Draco settled in for a few hours of anonymity until the bookstore closed.

xxxxx

After the war there was a grace period, where no one quite knew what to do with the failed young Death Eater. So for a while, he was left alone – granted he was wandless, and now had a tracker charm attached to his very essence – but alone enough.

He and his mother, moved to a safe house after the first fervid fanatic tried to drop by. When the second came round, they were granted a guard from the Ministry's auror department. Unsurprisingly in Draco's opinion, this did not improve their lives. But after 6 months the Ministry had captured every zealot foolish enough to remain in the country, and the Malfoy Men were due their day in court.

Lucius, the rotting bastard, had been given to several life sentences in Azkaban. Narcissa sat in the front row, demurely patting her handkerchief under her eyes as though the emotion might shatter her into pieces at any moment. Draco couldn't help but notice every time his mother's hands returned to her lap that the linen was free of moisture.

Narcissa's turn came and Potter popped up, of course. In the end prat probably saved his mother from a fate similar to his father. Draco had written a detached, but gracious thank you letter to his past nemesis and left things at that. The blond man may have realized how misguided he had always been, but any attempts to communicate this to his previous enemy was at best an invitation for mockery, at worst an invitation for pity. Besides, it wouldn't change anything.

When his sentence came down, the court had to be cleared of all but 'The most necessary of witnesses,' It was then he was told that despite his proved crimes, he would not be going to Azkaban. Every inch of his heritage at that point fought against what shreds of humanity he still contained – shreds that inside were falling to pieces in uncomfortably vulnerable relief.

As he willed his very blood to turn to steel, the fear bubbled up in his chest. Draco wasn't foolish enough to blindly declare there was no price too large so long as he can remain with his mother. He wasn't a bloody Gryffindor. He could list no less than 8 things that would be too high of a price for staying to support his mother in her time of social obliteration. Suffice it to say, he hoped when the other shoe dropped it would not be so large as to squash him entirely.

As the edict rang out he felt it. The slip. For a fraction of a second it all bled through and he was sure everyone in that room could taste his terror. Inside he scrambled to pull the facade back together, and as it slipped back into place his vision refocused. Right onto another set of eyes, in the loveliest shade of honeyed hazel.

xxxxx

It was this memory that was slipping out of his mind as his own grey eyes focused on the sight before him. So it wasn't hard to understand why he instantaneously assumed it was a figment of that memory.

But upon consideration, the memory didn't include Hermione Granger's wand digging into his rib cage.

Realization clicked into place quickly. Upon further consideration, Draco Malfoy was fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Hermione handled the terror in her chest the same way she always did: Books. Of course there wasn't a lot of research to be done on how to introduce your friends to the concept that their resident bookworm had picked up a nasty casual-sex-with-strangers habit.

So she did the second best thing you could do with a book. She fondled them. The irony was not lost on her. But, as always, the smell of dragonhide and aged parchment filled her chest and settled her. As she shelved the antique volumes, she let her mind wander its way through the problem.

' _The background is this: Harry thinks I've been avoiding him to spend time with a_ _ **singular**_ _man.'_ she glanced up, offering a polite, detached smile as a customer glided past with an amount of grace that seemed out of place on a body so pedestrian.

' _Harry told Ronnie–'_ Her jaw clenched at the nickname that had inadvertently slipped into her internal monologue, ' _Harry told_ _ **Ronald**_ _that I've been seeing a mystery man. Therefore, I have 3 options. First, I could lie. I could say he's on a trip, some work related matter. Or that he's not ready to meet my friends yet. Honestly, who in the whole of Wizarding Europe didn't want to meet The Golden Trio. No they'll never buy it.'_

Lost in thought she hefted a text rather roughly onto an ill-attended shelf, loosening a cloud of dust directly into her eyes. Huffing she mopped her face, glaring resentfully at both the book and furniture involved.

"Karma, apparently." She muttered, "accio duster."

From behind the counter the item rose, as she continued to mull over her options. Lying was not her her strong suit when it came to Harry. Not that she couldn't do it, she'd become rather adept at it. But the idea of adding another layer of dishonesty to the situation grated against her moral code. Not to mention it opened her up for far more scrutiny, and far more lies.

She glared at the duster, as though it were the cause of her acrimonious attitude. She hated dusting. But as most old magical texts were too unstable to have magic performed on or near them, it was a time consuming part of her duties. The only place it was reasonable to charm the apparatus into doing the work for her was in Muggle Literature, and even then under supervision.

Eyeing her stack of books to re-shelve, she pulled out those due for Muggle Lit and headed in that direction.

Her eyes caught upon a dark haired reader snoring gently in one of the area's armchairs. She felt a trickle of irritation, before the reality of how often she had fallen asleep in the same fashion crept up on her. Glancing at the clock she decided to give the poor man a bit before shattering his peace.

Charming the duster to work, she attempted to keep her hands as busy as her brain. With lying off the list, it came down to skiving off entirely or being honest. Skiving might require more dishonesty, where as honesty would invite something far worse.

' _Pity.'_ The word rang through her mind with such emphasis she could almost feel it on her tongue, behind the lips that had twisted into a grimace. Eyes drifting toward the clock, Hermione realized she had spent the last 30 or so minutes in front of the same shelf, with apparently the same book in her hands, while her internal dialogue had chased itself in circles.

Flushing, she glanced around the room, hoping not to land on any waiting customers. Sliding over the blond in the armchair the shop seemed to be empty. A nervous, self-deprecating laugh tore from her throat. But before the relief at not being caught daydreaming could wash over her, something clicked.

' _Blond in the armchair. Blond in the armchair was black-haired an hour ago.'_ Spinning on her heel her eyes narrowed.

' _Malfoy.'_

xxxxx

She had let him sleep peacefully for another full twenty minutes, while she stood there still as stone, staring.

Any passerby might think she'd been petrified. Again. But behind what she thought to be rather bland brown eyes, was an intelligence sparking. Harry called it the cogs turning. Ronald never bothered to ask what that particular bit of nonsense meant, he just knew it to be one thing: Dangerous. Hermione Granger was plotting something.

Then, in a blink of an eye there was movement personified. The street-front windows darkened and the sign on the front door that said "Welcome! Open!" rewrote itself to simply read "Closed."

Prowling toward Malfoy, her fingers shifted across the wand handle. Conjuring a stool, she sat directly in front of him and waited for the first signs of life.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: This chapter was not beta'd. I was too impatient. I don't know if I can continue with the daily upload, but I will try not to do less than every 3 days. We've had a slow start, but things are speeding up in Chapter 6. Promise! xoxo Sen_

 **Chapter 5**

He held her gaze patiently, refusing to flinch under her glare or retract from her wand. The war had made Draco Malfoy into something fearful, something terrified. The terms of the Wizengamot had formed him into something else, however. It had made him aware, it had educated him in a way that years of private tutors and Hogwarts professors and Death Eater mentors had somehow failed to. So he waited.

She waited as well, though a bit less patiently. The war had changed Hermione Granger as well, making her less soft, more angry. There were days she still felt like the locket was burning into her chest. After the war she tried to stuff her rage, tried to redirect it and reform it. At her core, Hermione was still brilliance personified, but now it was tainted with a black mark of resentment.

Draco watched it flare to life in her eyes. Internally, as was best in the moment, he let a small smirk curl through his consciousness. Externally he waited. He watched the fire in her burn brighter and brighter, he could almost see it racing through her body. He felt it in the twitch of her wand, watched it in the tremor of her knee. A small part of him noted how closely she had seated herself, between his splayed legs.

The note was filed away for later consideration.

After what seemed like a decade wrapped in a moment, he saw it all extinguished. Her wand slowly withdrew, then her body shot away from him sending the stool it was wrapped upon careening away.

"Get out Malfoy," her voice sounded ragged and winded.

He tried not to shoot out of the armchair. The resignation in her voice terrified him far more than the hatred in her eyes had. He knew how to deal with hatred, how to form the passion to suit his needs. But stoicism was a deeply uncomfortable realm. It had a set course of action, it was unwavering.

"How many are out there?" his voice sounded more clipped than he liked, but then again there wasn't much point in putting on the charm. His jutted his chin toward the front door as confusion flit over her face. "I assume you've called the Ministry, to report on my violation. How many aurors will I be surrounded by on the front page of the Prophet's evening edition? Anything over five I tend to snarl a bit, I would so hate to further discredit my mother by public snarling."

She blinked at him slowly. The confusion became rather embedded on her face.

"I didn't call the Ministry." she said quietly, "I didn't call anyone."

He noted how close they were standing, the proximity was frankly chilling. Draco fought the urge to circle around her to a distance more comfortable. It would evoke the wrong message, he thought, and this interval seemed to be inducing a level of intimacy that inspired Granger to be very forthright.

"I saw it." He responded finally in a low voice. It seemed the closeness had inspired him as well. "In your eyes. You want me to hurt. You want me to pay. So why, Granger, would you not call the organization capable of arranging such? Not up for the paperwork tonight?"

She broke off the staring contest she was having with his shoulder to roll her eyes. Her hands pushed across her face, wiping away some unseen feelings. Presumably frustration. She huffed, tilting her head back and glaring at the ceiling. He noticed how lovely her neck looked in the low lighting. File that one away too, albeit in a different cabinet perhaps.

"Why must you always make everything so complicated Malfoy. Take the free pass and run with it." She sighed, finally looking him in the eye. His eyebrow shot up at the statement.

"Malfoys never run." His lip curled, outwardly this time. "And nothing is ever free. What do you want Granger? What will it cost for this little grasp at anonymity to remain, well anonymous? I haven't access to my galleons, but I could perhaps arrange something, or sell something if given a few days. I know the shop clerk pay isn't quite livable."

Her eye twitched, and he found it charming. Filed. Her lips pursed to the side. Filed. Her head tilted, then her eyes sparkled in the way they used to at Hogwarts, when she solved complex arithmancy. Filed.

Draco realized that during his cataloguing, she had yet to respond. He let his trademarked sneer creep over his face, throwing up the defenses incase she had noticed his attention. He loomed over her, and in the back of his mind a tiny part of him enjoyed the height difference. Filed.

"Spit it out, Granger. What's your price?" he growled, hoping the posturing wasn't as transparent as it seemed. She smirked.

Granger _smirked._ "I want your help."

Yes, Draco Malfoy was thoroughly fucked.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Notes: Outfits can be found on my Pinterest: A Renewed Sense. Character Studies are on Tumblr, same username.  
_

 **Chapter 6**

This was hell. Unimaginable, unyielding hell. And they hadn't even walked through the door yet.

A jaw clenched. A shoulder rolled. A collar was straightened. A hand rose up and rapped almost appologetically on the door.

Having been at his trial, Hermione knew exactly how much was left in the Malfoy vaults once the Wizengamot had finished with the blindingly blond family. It wasn't a number to laugh at, so the fact that he didn't consider it equal to his relative freedom was very telling.

The fact that he so easily agreed to her proposal told even more. The whys of it swirled through Hermione's head.

"Stop," A hand slid across her lower back, coming to rest on her hip. "Nothing will sell this more than you being at ease."

Malfoy's private grin was a bit more disarming than she would like to admit. She tried to match it, which only managed to rip a broken laugh from his throat. He turned to face her, resting his hands on her hips.

"If you can't make the smile reach your eyes, you shouldn't bother." He almost tsked at her. Malfoy, _tsked!_

"They're going to know." Hermione hissed back anxiously. "This was a mistake, Merlin I'm such a fool…"

"Stop." Malfoy insisted again, cocky grin still tilting one side of her mouth. "They won't. And given your inclination for information, I'll tell you why. One. I am a superb actor. Two. We'll be in and out, arrive late and leave early. Three. Even, if by chance they do pick up on our tension, they'll accredit it to our fear of school day's prejudice. Four. I was raised to be the paramount of charm and grace, so no matter what might befall us on the other side of the door, I'll see us through."

"That's my list." Hermione realized where his hands were resting, and tried to step back.

"But improved upon. I've added number four, you see." Malfoy turned them back to the door, just in time for it to open.

"Mione!" A exceptionally disheveled, possibly drunk Harry threw open the door, arms akimbo. "Malfoy?"

After a beat, Harry adjusted his glasses to fit closer to their proper position in front of his eyes. Swirling his tumbler, he grinned.

"Entree Vous!" He grinned, taking a large sip and stepping back.

"I think you mean 'entrez.'" Hermione stepped forward to hug her dear friend, hearing his warm chuckle wash over her.

"Oh no, Mione. They're going to eat you alive."

xxxxx

There was a list going in Hermione's head of all the things going wrong tonight thus far, all the things that deserved her unyielding scrutiny when she had the time to devote it.

The list started with Malfoy arriving at her flat at half past. Not just arriving, no he Floo'd directly into her living room. And he arrived wearing _that._ Desperately she clung to a nonchalance air, continuing to pour hot water from the kettle directly into her tea bag ladden mug.

"Malfoy," she said, as he finished brushing the ash from his deep green overcoat. "I said casual."

"Granger," she swore she heard a mocking lit to his tone. "This is casual. Shirt, slacks, loafers."

"It's too… nice." She wrinkled her nose at him, clinging to the warm mug in her hands as a last line of defense toward the almost kind thoughts she was having for one Draco L. Malfoy.

"Well apparently I didn't understand your parameters for casual, Love." His hip hit the countertop as his eyes raked over her frumpy sweater and bun. "I suppose you'll have to change."

"Change?" Hermione huffed, absently taking a gulp of the still too hot tea.

"You're clothes." He drawled slowly, leaning in and removing the cup from her hands. "You told your mates we'd be late, because we were going out for drinks. Is this what you wear out for drinks, with a man you're presumably trying to shag?"

His hand was motioning down her body from a safe distance, but somehow goosebumps trailed behind his moving fingertips. She added that to the list, along with the mention of shagging. Shaking her head she all but leapt off the stool. She stomped down the hall, attempting to cover her anxiety with anger. Behind her she heard a chuckle.

"What Malfoy!" She snapped.

"Nothing, darling. Just never imagined you to be the bunny slippers type." The smirk he'd been wearing since he arrived had turned into a real smile. He took a sip of her tea, then looked up just in time to duck as one of the ratty slippers came sailing towards him.

xxxxx

This is how she ended up in Ron's front parlor, in a tight black mini dress and leather jacket. She had tried on several outfits that brought out various horrified or dismayed expressions on her 'date.' Finally he had had enough. Eyes narrowed, Malfoy waved his wand and transfigured what he referred to as 'Spinister Chic' into a slinky Slytherin green velvet number. When he cooed about loving his woman in his house colors, steam almost started pouring out of her ears.

Seeing her temper flare, he popped her into this number. It was something frighteningly close to what she used to wear to go club hopping in muggle London. She added it to the list, gulped down the drink he had spiked and took the arm he offered. Another thing to add to the list: Accepting and ingesting drinks unquestioningly from Draco.

' _Draco?'_

"MIONE!" Before the thought could fully be digested, she was enveloped in Ron's freckled arms. Within seconds she was whirled into the embrace of another ginger- George. Then the most and least diminutive Weasley was embracing her, and whispering in her ear "What the fuck, Mione."

Finally released, she spun to face the rest of the room, of which the majority was tensed towards her date. In fact, the only ones who didn't look ready to draw their wands were Susan, Hannah and strangely Harry.

The latter dropped gracelessly into the couch and proclaimed with no slight amount of slurring, "Look everyone! Mione's brought a Malfoy!"

"Right, that reminds me." Draco muttered after a beat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large bottle of expensive champagne. "To toast to your new home and new marriage with."

He offered a grin that was equal parts disarming and unsure. Susan grinned, touching his elbow as she accepted the bottle. Handing it to Ron, she asked him to pour it round and Hannah began transfiguring cups and hollering for everyone in the kitchen to come out and join them "before the night began."

Ron began to sputter, Harry began to laugh and Hermione began to shake.

Before she could dissolve with the rest of her trio, an arm curled around her protectively. She allowed herself to be pulled into a chest, and endeavoured to train her breathing patterns to a normal pace, refusing to think of the sensuous scent she was now inhaling. As the blood pounding in her ears started to dissipate she relaxed to look up at her hero.

Fuck. Of course it had to be Draco. Not Neville, or Lee, either of whom were both familiar with her panic attacks and past casual sexual partners. Because that would explain the sensation of physical comfort, she explained to herself, willing her brain to buy it just once.

"Honestly," A voice sounding less like her own consciousness cut through her musings.

"What the actual fuck."


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: So very sorry lovelies, but I may be a bit inconsistent updating for the remainder of this week. Family is visiting, and I'm obliged to pinch many cheeks, and make a great amount of cooing noises. I will endeavor to post updates between such academic feats._

 **Chapter 7**

Draco felt the words crawl up his back, frighteningly icy. Carefully and quickly he built his wall while his mind traced out every available exit and tried to calculate the likelihood of survival. As his eyes fell on the glowering face, he braced himself.

"Pansy." His tone was perfectly clipped, as though it were the wings of the traitorous bird that was his truth. It would never escape. "Lovely to see you, as always. Didn't expect to see you here..."

He let his voice trail in the slightest possible fashion. She scoffed in return, crossing the room and pulling him into a hug.

"You're fishing," He felt her grin into his ear. "How very _desperate_ of you."

A smile quirked his own lips. He knew this game. He could do this. He could play whatever part Pansy wanted, whatever part Granger needed, and still retain the bit of himself that almost liked himself.

" _Really Malfoy? This is the time you assess as being ideal for self deprecation?"_ Draco refused to admit even to himself that his inner dialogue sounded a fair amount like Granger. Pansy was still talking.

"...and now that you're all here, we can have one last round and head out!" Pansy's arm was linked with Neville. Well there was one answer.

"Dancing?" Granger's voice wavered out from his chest. Draco blinked slowly. He hadn't realized he was still holding her. Stepping back as carefully as possible, he looked up- straight into the evil grin of Pansy.

"Sounds wonderful." He could play this game. Accepting a glass from Hannah, he raised a toast. "To the lovely couple, frightful company and a frightfully lovely night."

Potter snorted into his glass.

xxxxx

Before leaving his flat earlier that night, Draco had once more played out the plan in his head trying to find it's faults. Any that he saw couldn't really fall in the bad category for him. Though compared to what used to fall in the bad category it would have to rain cracked cauldrons of Bubotuber acid before he would mark this evening as "Not the best ever."

Frankly this could end up harder for Granger than him. Worst case scenario, everyone continues to hate him and by association, now her. But then she could report him for the violation and he'd have to loaf about in Azkaban for 6 months instead of his flat. Of course the only real difference would be the thread count.

Best case scenario, he could irritate and irk Potty and and the Weasel all night. He could drink their booze, and charm their women and insert himself so thoroughly that they'd never again remember the night without him. Plus, a beautiful woman on his arm who's forced to pretend he's the light of her life? It was empty, but so was he. He'd take the satisfaction however he could get it.

And Granger. Oh she was desperate, and it was sweet. He adored how she tried to act as though she had higher ground. They both had something to lose here, her mistake was thinking he was as attached to his pride as she was her own. But letting her operate under the false assumption cost him nothing, and left him available for so much.

That was until of course, Pansy Parkinson showed up. Because Pansy _knew things_. Pansy knew he screamed at night. Pansy knew his flat had no mirrors. Pansy knew he was broken, but he refused to talk about it. And when he refused to talk about it, she became more insistent. When she became insistent, he started avoiding her. Which of course left her no other option but to embarrass him with snide little jabs whenever they crossed paths in public.

Draco still had something to lose here, but it wasn't pride. It was the fragile little illusion of survival he had built.

xxxxx

He watched as Granger had begun to shake. Before the thought had finished forming in his mind, he was across the room holding her.

The physical contact, he would later realize, hadn't broken until they were deep in the wizarding club, when Pansy pulled him to the bar.

"Come now Draco, the golden lioness will manage without you for two whole minutes."

He felt the sour look spread across his face before he could stop it. Potter, despite filling the cliche drunk bachelor role, was sharp enough to catch the expression and barked out a laugh. He had been doing that since their arrival, only otherwise contributing to the party with little shit-stirring barbs. This was not going as planned at all.

"So. Granger." Pansy purred, leaning on the bar.

"Who's lacking subtlety now Pans?" He propped an elbow up on the glossy surface and folded his hands in front of him, trying to appear nonchalant. "So. Longbottom. Trying to suss out if any part of the surname holds accuracy?"

"My, my, you're cranky tonight, aren't you. Tell me darling, what little plan have I ruined this time?" She motioned for the bartender, fluttering her eyelashes when he all but sprang to her portion of the blackened bar top.

"Nothing yet, dearest, but do keep up that fighting spirit. It brings out the shine in your fangs, after all." His eyes watched Granger stand from their corner table and head towards the toilets. When he turned back to Pansy she was trying to decide between pouting at his words or smirking at his actions.

"Ouch, I'm wounded. Mean old Draco Malfoy strikes again." Her expression shifted as the bartender returned with a tray full of drinks. It was one that only her nearest and dearest would see as loving compassion, mixed with bitter resignation. 75% of their graduating class just called it Pansy's Pugface.

"I know a large part of the world thinks you're incapable of redemption, Draco. But you don't have to play so heavily to that audience." She marched off with the drinks, swaying her hips to shift through the crowd.

Draco glared at the barman and ordered double of Ogden's Black Reserve. As he waited, he chewed Pansy's words, washing them down with the caramel colored liquor. Exhaling, he pivoted on the heel of his finely crafted dragonskin shoe, and strode back to the table, ready to have it out with the witch- agreement be damned.

But when he returned, the only body left at the booth was Longbottom. Losing steam, Draco slumped into a seat. After a moment, his mouth tilted into a small grin.

"So, Longbottom. Pansy?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Granger returned from the toilets she was fuming. Pansy wasn't far behind her, wearing a look that a kinder sort of person might refer to as self-satisfied.

Before he could blink, Hermione had swallowed a good fraction of the shots they had brought back from the bar, then dragged him out to the dance floor. For the first few songs she gyrated against him in a fashion that in his world at least, would have meant Draco would be needing fresh sheets the next day. But every time their bodies connected he could feel the fury sparking off her.

Finally he dragged her to the bar, attempting to sort out the problem. But before he could get a word in she had swallowed both their drinks and returned to the fairie lit floor, titillating some other poor soul into swirling her around the room. Draco gathered his pride and went out for a smoke.

He had been charming away the scent of the muggle addictive he so thoroughly enjoyed when the party came stumbling out the door. Before he could look for her, Hermione was sliding her arms around his torso.

"Darling, Pansy's taking us to a party up the street." Her voice was husky from drinking, and a lesser man might have shiver as it ghosted over his ear. Then again, Draco might not be the man he thought he was. Pansy was smirking over Hermione's shoulder in a way that told him she had caught the twitch in his jaw while his date had been speaking.

"Sounds wonderful," He smiled, letting his hands fall low on her hips. He caught Weasel's huff from the corner of his eye.

They said goodbyes to Lee and George, who had excused themselves in the name of an early morning, then popped off with arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Hannah and Seamus had taken off twenty minutes ago in a stealthy fashion that spoke of secret sex, and by the time they had made it halfway, Potter was nowhere to be found.

Hermione waved him off when he mentioned it. Turns out Weaselette and Potter were 'Off' this week, and the-boy-who-wouldn't-fucking-die tended to come and go as he pleased during such times.

When they crossed into muggle London, he was hardly surprised. When they reached the gothic framework of the Corinthia, he was even less surprised.

Pansy, if nothing else, was an entirely consistent bitch.

xxxxx

As the elevator pulled them up to the penthouse, Weasely finally had the good sense to ask who's party it was they were attending.

"An old friend. He bought a quidditch team last week, and wanted to have a sort of getting to know you event. Have you heard of the Cannons?" Pansy was checking her make-up charms in a conjured compact, so she missed the gob-smacked expression that was Ronald's face.

 _Or perhaps she simply didn't notice._ Draco mused to himself, unkindly. _It does look so much like his normal expression. But I'm sure the next change will be much more apparent when he figures out whose party this is._

"I didn't realize the Corinthia was a wizarding hotel." The walk had sobered Granger up a bit, and her usual knowledge-hungry spirit had bled through once more. But Pansy showed no desire to mock it, in fact she did something entirely out of character and answered the other witch completely and directly.

"It's not, really." Pansy popped her lips then banished the compact. "The hotel is fully muggle with the exception of two or three floors that when requested host wizarding types. Generally the higher ups from other countries, or the shamelessly rich."

Granger nodded as though this was expected, then laughed. "It would be rather strange to see visiting dignitaries in the Cauldron."

The elevator dinged their arrival, and the doors opened. They were met with a rather dull hallway, that lead to a rather dull set of wooden doors. While Pansy lead the charge, Draco pulled Hermione to the back of their little crowd.

"I apologize in advance." He murmured into her ear. "For whatever happens next that reminds you of what a horrible prat I've ever been."

She turned to look at him as the doors opened and music came pounding out. He didn't hear her question, nor could he answer it. The very best he could communicate with was the arm around her waist and a brief kiss on her forehead.

It probably appeared much more foreboding than he had intended it.

xxxxx

The next morning Hermione Granger woke up very, very, very sore. From the pounding in her head that spoke of twelve too many drinks, to the stiffness in her calves that spoke of too high heels worn far too long.

For a few minutes she laid there with her eyes firmly shut. She wasn't alone, that was clear from scruff brushing her shoulder, and the snores echoing through the room. Rather than open them, and see what mistakes she had made, she chose instead to luxuriate in the darkness.

That was a rather smart choice, she would later decide.

Upon opening them, she was immediately drawn to the weight on her chest, pixie sharp features and a mop of red hair proved it to be Ginny. Fair enough. Further down on her legs however appeared to be a pillow topped by dark sandy brown hair. Unknown, not a great sign. And on her shoulder, scruff included was of course Draco Malfoy.

There was not point moving, that would cause pain she was sure. And there was no point getting upset, her blood pressure would pound away in her head causing more pain. So instead, perhaps, it'd be best to go back to sleep. Maybe when she woke this would all have been just a dream. Or at the very least, a resolved problem.

It was then she noticed the sinister smirk of one Blaise Zabini. And in his hand, thanks to the Grace of Godric himself, was a Sobered Serum.

"Your wake up call, Madam." He shot her something a little too sharp for a smirk. "Our portkey is scheduled for 8 as requested. That gives you a little over 30 minutes to owl in sick for work. Xotch took your picked up everything you requested. She's at Miss Ginerva's flat now, but should be back momentarily."

She sat up, waking her incidental bedfellows in the process.

"I'm sorry, what?" She rubbed her eyes to see she was speaking to the back of Blaise's finely tailored suit.

"Paris, darling, Paris!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Hermione, as most would be surprised to find, hadn't been to France since she was a small child. It had be a quick holiday with her parents, before the dental practice had taken off. Before the war and her own choices had whisked them away.

Most would be further surprised to see her lack of enthusiasm that morning, upon learning she was traveling to the historically rich country in just a few minutes. The serum had drained the remaining alcohol from her system, cleared her mind and reinvigorated most her muscle groups. But it couldn't quite wipe away the awkwardness of the night before, or rather, the lack of memories from it.

She couldn't remember the last time she had drank that much, the humor of such a sentiment was entirely lost on her. She had been doing so well, less men, less bars, less stilted morning conversations with casual strangers in various states of undress. Now she had celebrated her rather insignificant success on restraining her excesses, and found herself in yet another uncomfortable breakfast scenario with a rather random set of fully dressed associates.

Associates of Malfoy, mostly. Blaise was there in a suit so well tailored she envied the fabric for the amount of attention it had gotten. Daphne was there, curling into a chair with the sort of grace that could only be inherited. Theo stalked through the penthouse looking for footwear that cost more than her entire flat. Draco sat next to her, spiking his Ogdens with what might graciously be called a touch of coffee. In fact the only person who wasn't a Slytherin alum was Ginny, a girl who Hermione realized she knew nothing about outside of her relationship with Harry.

Yet despite the rather unsettling group around her, Hermione was thanking the Zabini elf, Xotch for picking up a rather expertly packed overnight bag. She had written off a quick note to her employer and sat down for breakfast without question. It wasn't until the first piece of toast reached her mouth that she noticed how easily she fell into the assumed ranks. As quickly as that thought slid through her mind, another slithered in behind it. A memory of herself and Draco on the balcony, sitting on the guardrail, feet dangling over Muggle London.

" _What are you even doing here." Draco had asked her, after they had been sitting silently for almost an eternity. The night in front of them was a sharp contrast to the loud party just over their shoulders._

" _I don't have anywhere else to be." She had whispered back. Her admission was framed by the hollering and shouts of quidditch players inside, but it felt like an entirely separate thing. Like the two verbalizations couldn't exist in the same space, at the same time. She was wondering how that could be when she felt his hand wrap around hers on the railing._

He hadn't looked at her. He hadn't said a thing. He just existed in the same space, at the same time.

xxxxx

Although the particular moment Granger was rehashing was currently lost to him due to one too many shots of Goblin made Vodka (or 'Gobka!' as Weasel at one point started calling it), Draco was thinking along the same lines.

Truly the only difference between the initial proposal of Paris last night, and today's reminder of their acquiescence was the amount of alcohol pumping through his veins. Thank Merlin for Blaise and his well stocked potion cabinet, though of course that was a gratitude he'd never outwardly express. Especially since he had the sneaking suspicion that the position he had woken to was staged by their all too gracious host.

This wasn't the first time he had come-to after a bender only to find himself spooning Nott, and if the camera on littered vanity counter was any indication, another photo would soon be joining the Snuggle Scrapbook. Speaking of, Draco looked around for the keeper of the tawdry tome.

"Where's Pansy?" he rasped, his vocal cords not quite recovered from the pack of muggle carcinogens he had apparently sucked down last night.

"She's gone ahead to the hotel," Blaise replied after issuing clean up orders to his newly returned elf. "She wanted to be sure we'd have the entire floor to ourselves."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger's face go ghostly white. Turning toward her, he saw a copy of the Daily Prophet in her lap, and a sheet of parchment in her hands. For half a second, he envied the way her fingers held the paper, but before the thought could register he was out of his chair. Leaning over her shoulder intending to read the letter, the front page of the newspaper caught his eye instead.

 **LOVERS OVER LONDON!**

There they were, in black and white. Draco couldn't recall the moment, but he didn't doubt the validity of it any less. The wizarding picture hosted his all too familiar features next to Hermione's on the penthouse's terrace, last night. He watched himself look toward Granger, then look away with an entirely too transparent smile on his face.

As the perfectly bred, high society, pureblood scion he was, the intimacy of the shot was - in short - terrifying. But before he could investigate either the offending photography or the associated documents, a tug at his trousers distracted him.

By the time he had thanked his elf Kelum for his bag, Granger had put away the paperwork in question and was eyeing him with something between suspicion and… well Draco wasn't entirely familiar with the other half of that expression. He was almost foolish enough to label it as respect, but not quite.

Before he could suggest a suitable excuse to whisk Granger aside and talk about it, Blaise was huddling them around a rather ugly statuette of a ballerina. As the portkey sensation settled into his abdomen he glanced once more around the room, eyes settling on what looked to be the remains of one infamous wizarding publication, curling in the flames of a waste bin.

That fire, he would later note, wasn't entirely left behind in London.

xxxxx

 **Lovers Over London!**

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _Once again Hermione Granger's been sighted over head! But this time, it's with an altogether different sort of dragon. Last night the infamous gal pal of the wizarding world's shining salvation stepped out with all of our favorite familiar faces - and some of our most detested! The bushy brainiac joined Handsome Harry, Rugged Ronald, and a few more of Gryffindor's most gorgeous alumni for a night on the town. Wrapped on the arm of the Despicable Draco Malfoy, it's not hard to wonder if Highbrow Hermione has fallen back into her old man-eating habits. On the other hand, it's been suggested that perhaps the disgraced Death Eater has in fact begun leading on the less than graceful Granger. Malfoy has a long history of stringing girls along for his own amusement, and with this being the week his ex-fiancee weds another... Well, we can only wait and see, dear readers, which heart will end up shattered across the streets of London._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Draco dropped the extra knuts into the bag attached to the owls leg, offering it a treat before it flew off again. He had always openly mocked those that paid extra for a copy of the Prophet when abroad. But considering he had been the newspaper's main feature for the past few days, it was easy to accredit the cost to self interest.

"Another one for the scrap book then?" Theo grinned from the dining table. It seemed the interest in the Malfoy-Granger Romantic Whirlwind extended to Draco's own (temporary) living space.

"I suppose." Draco drawled with all the pretension he could muster. "It's a rather fetching angle, though I'm rather upset I'm so poorly featured."

The front page that morning hosted an image that any sensible editor would have sized down, but thankfully wizarding England had no abundance of such. The photo splashed across the page barely left room for the creatively deficient headline. Though it did rather speak for itself, Draco thought. He tossed it on the coffee table, and strolled out of the room. He should have just enough time to shower before the howler came in.

Theo accio'd the paper, then barked out a laugh. There in the stark contrast of black and white was Granger's hair and a pair of unbelievably long legs separated only by what could graciously be called a dress. The thing barely skimmed her arguably incredible arse, which was being groped roughly by the body Granger had pushed up against the side of a building last night upon leaving the club. As photo-Granger shifted, the body in question pulled it's head up from her neck and offered the photographer smirk that almost had Nott questioning his own preferences.

xxxxx

Three days ago, when they had finally checked in to the excessively lavish penthouse suite at Le Meurice, Granger had cornered him. Unfortunately not at all in the exciting, lust filled manner much of the wizarding world had come to expect.

"What in the name of Rowena's Rosebud happened last night?" She hissed as he shut the door to their gilded bedroom. If the Malfoy line hadn't already bred out the ability, he might have blushed at her language. Fortunately they had, and he was able to hold the course.

"Language Love," He scolded her. "No future Mrs. Malfoy should besmirch our good name by cursing like a common cauldron scrubber."

"Malfoy!" She hissed. "This isn't funny! Somehow one night has turned into a fucking world tour?!"

"Darling, despite what the French think, Paris is hardly the entire world. If you'd like a tour, perhaps Italy next. Then maybe the Seychelles. They have some lovely beaches and this time of year-"

He ducked just in time for the shoe she had chucked to go flying over head.

"If you keep that up Pet, they're going to think you like it rough." This time Granger blushed, he noted with some satisfaction. "What happened was, we fooled your mates. We went out on the town and charmed everyone. We did it so well, we managed to inadvertently fool my friends as well."

There was the first lie of the day, what a late start. Usually he had managed three before breakfast, although normally it was only lying to himself. He paused in his unpacking to frown at himself. Granger took the pause for something more akin to regret over lying to his friends and interjected his thoughts chirping about coming clean or staging a fight. That wasn't going to do.

"Yes we could, but Theo will be rather put out when I cash in on the wager regarding Gryffindors not being true to their word." It was thin. Anyone with a shred of shrewdness would have seen through it, so of course he didn't expect Granger to. And of course she did.

"What did I promise." She looked as though her very morality had sentenced her to a lifetime of dissatisfaction. Really, it was only a week. Draco smirked at that thought, something Granger again misread. She began to fidget, and he had to bite back a laugh at her transparency.

"You, in an epic moment of true stalwartness, volunteered to be my date. To my ex fiance's wedding." He tried to mention it casually, but felt his tongue tripping over the end of the statement. Draco focused on charming the nonexistent wrinkles out of his packed shirts, and peripherally watched her eyes narrow.

"Which is when?"

"This week." He charmed the shirts on to hangers.

"When this week, Malfoy."

"Official wedding related events start Thursday." Pants now floated to hangers.

"It's Sunday."

"Unofficial events start today." His shoes were being lined up in the closet space with a precision he had never before executed. In fact, Draco couldn't remember the last time he had actually unpacked his own bag. This was elf work, he was anxious enough to do an elf's work. Merlin's saggy left-

"Do you have a book?"

"What?" Draco was blindsided. He had been about to execute a power move that included his casual undressing, something that in the past had proven all too rewarding with witches, when Hermione had finally responded.

"Do you have a book? I need… I need to read. I need to reset my brain." The flush was back. And he still had his shirt on. How strange.

Without a real thought to it, Draco reached in his bag and pulled out the Tolkien. Her eyes caught it, then him with almost palpable accusation.

"I left the gold on the counter." All he could do was shrug. All she did was nod, then took the book and headed for the nearest balcony.

Baffled he had followed her until she exited through the living area, then stood there watching as she had settled herself. He was completely confused, and so he did the only thing he knew how to in times of chaos. Draco fell back on his breeding and called for a house elf, informing it to bring Ms. Granger a cool drink, and to reinforce the sun protection charms around her. After doing so he had thrown himself into the nearest chair, only then noticing his audience.

After seeing that little scene, Theo had a rather hard time believing Draco's insistence that this was all just an arrangement.

xxxxx

Hermione worked her way through Tolkien's Mordor with a weight on her chest not unlike the fabled ring. In a literary sort of way, she worked through deep cognitive caverns, avoided her cerebral beasts and battled the poison lurking inside her own mind.

" _All we have to decide is what to do with the time given to us."_

It was at that line that she shut the book firmly, resting it on her outstretched legs. She reached for the lavender lemonade an elf had left behind some hours ago, and sipped it slowly. Tracing patterns in the condensation, she went over her plan again.

Slytherins, as you probably know, are infamous for their plotting. But it would be a great disservice to oneself to discredit or disregard Hermione Granger's ability to scheme. Indeed to underestimate her abilities was very much like underestimating a smattering of rain, choosing to see it as only condensation as opposed to the beginnings of a perfect storm.

Hermione had, at one point, thought she was just some drizzle. One part of the majesty that was a hurricane. But during the war she had come to realize that was inaccurate.

She was not the fist that broke Malfoy's nose. She was the one who threw the punch. She was not the jar that held Rita Skeeter. She was the one who put her in the jar. She was not the girl who rode a dragon. She was the girl who stole the dragon.

She was not the rain. But in fact, the tempest itself.

When the war ended, she had tried to put herself back in the know-it-all-swot box, best friend to Potter, girlfriend to Weasley. Dependable at best, irritating as usual. As a result, while the wizarding world had been saved, she had found herself rather damned. In fact she had allowed it.

The words from Molly Weasley's letter that morning, the one tied in with a copy of the Prophet, came ringing back to her.

" _You can't fix the hole in your heart with the one between your legs, dear."_

Hermione grabbed the book and stood up, finally seeing beyond the balcony for the first time since they had arrived. All of Paris was spread out before her, and for the first time that Hermione could ever remember, she felt free.

And she'd be damned if she'd let any small minded woman put her back in that box.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

As it turns out, pureblood society weddings had become a bit of a habit for the Slytherin ensemble Hermione had landed herself in. So the group had fallen into rhythm for the events that preceded, and proceeded.

Sunday they checked in, they unpacked then they resigned themselves to a very stylish and graceful form of loafing about. Sunday, it turns out, was a day of rest. It was rather biblical, as Hermione had pointed out to a room full of blank stares.

Beyond a few such instances where her inescapable muggleborn-ness momentarily overwhelmed, she found she rather got along with the group. Blaise and Theo endlessly heckled and snarked each other, as well as Draco. This had been something she of course found no small amount of delight in. Once the boys realized they had an captive audience, they had begun slipping more and more embarrassing little details about the Malfoy heir into casual conversation.

Eventually however, the aforementioned heir had silencio'd them for well over an hour, spending the time enumerating the many ways his companions were equally (if not more) inept than he had been depicted as. By the time Daphne and Pansy had joined them, Hermione's face was sore from the wide grin that had been all but set there by a permanent sticking charm.

It was then that Hermione met Pansy and Daphne. True, they had been classmates for the entirety of her magical education, but much like muggle magic - what seemed one way from a distance was totally different behind the curtain. In this case the curtain was breached Monday, when the heiresses disrupted her delusions over breakfast.

"Hermione darling, we're leaving for the shops in twenty minutes. Will you be ready?" Daphne's voice rang through the penthouse.

"What?!" Hermione hissed at Blaise, who shrugged unapologetically as stirred his tea. "We're what?!"

She had fled through the sprawling suite to find Malfoy where she had left him, on the conjured cot in their room. Shooting a stinging hex at him, she allowed an unmitigated amount of glee to roll across her face before explaining her consternation, to which he offered a smirk of his own before banishing the cot and flopping on to the bed.

"Merlin this is comfortable, I'm sleeping here from now on Granger. If it offends your sensibilities, _you_ can use the cot. Now put on some flats and go join them. You'll need a dress for tonight anyways, just tell them to put it on my account."

Sputtering, she had reached for a trainer to chuck at him before realizing she had become entirely too predictable. Malfoy had already pulled one of the sinfully fluffed pillows over his head. Instead she had grinned, then flicked her wand at him, before marching out the door to what she had been certain was her doom.

She allowed herself a small measure of delight at the unrefined squealing that followed her, as Malfoy realized his pillow had become a very large (and very alive thanks to an inverse bubblehead charm) trout.

xxxxx

This is how she found herself browsing the high end dressmakers of both wizarding and muggle Paris on a sunny Monday morning. By the time they had exited the lobby she had just initiated the internal lecture on her ceaseless stupidity. Joining two women who hated her due to the assumably grievous misfortune known as her birth, on a shopping trip way out of her budget and comfort zone, to appease a man who had been her bully throughout school. Of all the senseless, idiotic ideas….

Yet before the steam started billowing out of her ears, Daphne had linked arms with her murmuring gently. "Smile darling, there's cameras up ahead dying to see you fall apart. I rather hope to see them endlessly disappointed."

Pansy had caught the other arm, but chose to say nothing on the street. Instead unleashing it in a torrent behind the closed boutique doors, casting dispersion and disgust at anything in her vicinity. Which of course in this case, was Hermione.

Or rather, the circumstances currently enshrouding Hermione. It was a subtlety she had almost missed until Daphne had pointed it out, with a resentment in her pretty blue eyes that seemed jarringly out of place on a face so achingly beautiful.

"It's not about you." Daphne's voice was so melodious it made Hermione itch. "It's about the world we live in and how any proximity to our corner of society is a crime in and of itself. They are of course mostly ensnared by our status in society, but the real story here today is how the mighty heroine has lowered herself to the likes of us."

The taller witch paused to sip some champagne, tilting her head at the confusion on Hermione's face.

"How far has the wizarding world really come, Hermione, if people are guilty simply for associating with us, the byproducts of inherited fanaticism, fear, anger? The prejudice that was taught to us over family dinners, so casually one could have been discussing the proper fold of a napkin or an interesting chess move. But this..." Her slender hand gestured with unyielding grace to the small crowd of photographers outside. "This hatred was not inherited. No despite being equally ignorant as the mentality it rallies against, this hatred was chosen. I guess you could say Pansy finds it a bit trying at times."

Nothing more of the matter was discussed. Daphne let the topic wash over her companion for a moment, before starting up a new line of discussion on the evening's dinner arrangements, and after dinner activities. As Daphne and Pansy nattered on about appropriate hemlines for the two very opposing dress code for their plans, Hermione had mulled over the impromptu lecture. Twisting it, rearranging it, putting the whole thing on its head, she couldn't find a way to look at the situation without out the stark realization that she had fallen into a dangerous mindset. As had, apparently, the majority of wizarding England.

By the time Hermione had returned to the hotel she carried a quite a few new dresses with hemlines that ranged from darling to daring. Not to mention several casual outfits, and to her horror some Pansy-Approved sleepwear that took very creative liberties with the construct of 'wearing.' But most importantly, she bore a new understanding and perhaps most precious of all in her mind, a new mission.

She would date Draco Malfoy, helping him salvage some pride in the face of a lost love. She would enjoy herself while doing so, if only to further rub Molly Weasley's demented morality in the most offensive way possible. But most importantly, she would get to know the Slytherin sect beyond the sins of their parents, and do everything she could to get others to treat them with the same basic human decency.

xxxxx

Dinner that evening had been nerve wracking for Hermione. To be fair, it was possibly the least terrifying event planned for the week. But that realization didn't diminish the fear crushing her chest, nor did the glass of wine Blaise handed her before they left.

Upon reaching the hotel lobby the group had split off into various pairings, each setting off to have a meal with whichever patriarch or matriarch was of closest relation. Blaise sought out his mother, and the man he only referred to as "13." Pansy slunk off with him to meet her own mother, the inexorable Angelonia Parkinson. Daphne, in turn, glided off with Theo on her arm toward an apparation point that would lead them to another restaurant containing a large number of Greengrasses. This left her and Draco to find their way to what Hermione later thought was the most excessively french restaurant in all of France.

As they strolled down Rue Something-or-Other, Draco gently folded her hand into his. She was deeply lost in her own personal pep-talk when he pulled her to a stop. Leaning over, he raised one arm as if he were pointing out a landmark, and whispered in her ear.

"Granger you need to calm down, you're the most impressive witch I've ever dated - pretend or otherwise. My mother will fall to your charm as easily as anyone else."

For a second she was so lost in straining her eyes to see what he was pointing at, she had almost missed his words. Looking up, she saw his grey eyes laughing at her. It was almost enough to distract her from how close his face was.

"There's a photographer, half a block back." He lowered his arm, and smiled on her in almost a doting fashion. "It's all part of the game, Love."

Slowly, she let a smile fill her face before reaching up and cupping his. The shock that settled in his eyes was enough to make the laugh she let out truly authentic. On impulse alone she leaned forward and kissed him.

xxxxx

Dinner with Narcissa had been a rather quiet affair on Draco's part, something Hermione would only take note of as they rose from the meal. He dropped an affectionate kiss on his mother's cheek, before ushering her to the restaurants private Floo access. Hermione sat at the table sipping the post meal espresso they had ordered before the matriarch had exclaimed over the time.

She mulled over the skill with which Narcissa had pulled her into the conversation, and out of her own discomfort. Before the entrees had arrived, Hermione felt as though she were sitting down with an old friend discussing knitting tricks - not with the woman who's drawing room floor she had been tortured on, discussing muggle-wizard relationary politics. There was something to be said for the woman's charm.

The line of thought was interrupted before she could tangle herself further. Draco standing before her, hand outstretched. She allowed her eyes to rake over him for a moment, appreciating in a detached fashion the way nature had built him. Perhaps she had too much wine with dinner. Because Draco Malfoy looked rather delicious at the moment, if not a bit tense.

"Are you ready? We're to meet everyone in twenty minutes, and you still need to change."

"Change?"

"We're going out. The very best way to shake off pureblood prattling is with a stiff drink." He pulled her from her chair with a small smile.

"Your mother was lovely, I don't need to shake off the experience." She wasn't sure why she said it, but felt some satisfaction at watching the worry lines in his forehead ease at her words.

"Well that may be the case, but it's tradition. Parents first, party after. Everyone will be waiting for us." His hand fell on her lower back as they headed to the door, stopping only to collect their coats from a star struck looking clerk.

"You make it sound so typical. How often do you get dragged into these wedding weeks?" She tried to ignore how his palm seemed to sear through the back of her dress. She was so distracted she missed the way his shoulders tensed.

"Often. Not as often as-" He thanked the clerk with an all too suave smile, and lead her out into the brisk evening air. When he spoke again his voice was steely. "Often enough."

She didn't fancy herself incredibly tactful, and was downright inconsiderate at times. But Hermione had the grace not to question the turn in mood, settling instead with tucking her hand in his as they strode back to the hotel.

xxxxx

The club had been packed in a way that would have been suffocating, had they not gotten a private section. Apparently, the pureblood Parisian party rule happened often enough to allow at least one of clique to be identified by the hostess.

Hermione was rather emboldened by the fact that it wasn't her for once being recognized. Other than the photographer that had followed her and Draco to and from dinner, most of Paris seemed far more enraptured with the wizarding aristocrats. The autonomy and freedom made her rather lightheaded.

Which would explain how easily she was talked into shots. Despite her drinking habits in Britain, she found herself at a bit of a loss in this setting. She was more of a dark-corner-of-the-local-pubs kind of girl. This was a techno pulsing, strobe lit wizarding club. So what she encountered was out of the ordinary, at best.

And despite the unspoken truce, Pansy was still Pansy. It couldn't quite qualify as a surprise that the first shot she had thrust into her hands had her breathing bright pink bubbles for a solid three minutes. After that she was a bit more discerning with her drinking.

Draco eventually helped her extract revenge, which lead to a rather interesting scene later in the night where Pansy, with the head of a bullfrog, burped opera notes. All in all it was an evening that Hermione would mark as enjoyable, if ever pressed. She wasn't overly fond of the type of setting, but found she was more and more appreciative of the company.

Daphne eventually dragged her out onto the dance floor, where she was spun across floor panels that slightly floated as her feet settled on them. Eventually she lost track of the songs and was surprised at one point to find hands on her hips that weren't Daphne's or Pansy's, but Draco's. Before she could even properly express her surprise, she was lost again, swirling in a sea of bodies dressed in attire much like hers - slinky, with a side of posh.

The night seemed to end as soon as it began, but to her surprise it was already reaching dawn. Despite her intense joy, she couldn't deny she was tiring. That had to be the reason why Draco's arm was wrapped around her hips so snuggly, obviously. The last shot she had taken had given the world a greenish ghostly gleam, and she found rather enjoyed both sensations.

As they dragged their weary bodies into the hotel room and through to their respective rooms, she identified the high in her heart. Her head hit the pillow with a sigh. Tonight had been the first time in a great long while where the wizarding world had truly felt less like a burden and more like actual magic.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** _Before we continue, I have some housekeeping. First of all this story continues to be generally unbeta'd, so I appreciate all the endless patience with my typos. I do try to go back and correct things as I see them, if you note anything please let me know. Secondly an admission: a_ _t some point this story got away from me. In the beginning, I had a very clear idea of where it was going, but in writing it I tweaked a few tiny details and it's instead turned into something I'm not quite sure of. What I'm trying to say is I'm just as eager as all of you to find out what happens to our darlings. This is not to say I don't have a loose idea of where we'll end up, but getting there will be an adventure. I hope you all are enjoying the ride as much as I am. Thanks endlessly to all the readers, and a special nod to the reviewers (especially ForesakenKalika_ _) who fan the flames of motivation continuously. Final note,_ _I've posted a new little one-shot about Blaise and Pansy, which might give some insight into future chapters. **Thank you for your time and attention, darlings.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Draco's arm reached for the nightstand long before his eyes opened. The hangover relieving potion was halfway to his stomach before he identified the not entirely unusual sensation of another body pressed against his. Inhaling deeply he was distantly startled by the scent of rosemary, instead of the vanilla he expected. Cracking an eye, he found he was rather less surprised than one might expect to find Hermione's curls on his shoulder, instead of the pin-straight blond locks he expected.

Suppressing a sigh, he carefully extracted himself from the bed before shuffling out towards the smell of Theo's current American fetish, coffee. It was far too early to be contemplating why he expected the body in his bed to be _her_. Or why it brought him some amount of relief to find it wasn't.

He was met in the hall by the overwhelming grin of one very well caffeinated Theodore Nott. Mentally, he noted he was Nott ready for this shit, but didn't let the horrible pun escape his lips. Instead, he nabbed the cup from the brunette man's hands and took a large gulp, closing his eyes as the bitter liquid slid across his tongue.

"Long night?" Theo's grin somehow widened as he fell into pace with Draco, who was making his way toward the new, and welcome, scent of crepes. "I see the Lioness hasn't managed to tear you to shreds yet."

Draco leveled a blank gaze at his childhood friend, before settling on the overly posh couch. "You know it isn't like that."

"Ah yes, all for show." Theo settled into an armchair nearby, but not before dropping a thick stack of newspapers on the coffee table before him. "Apparently, your production has quite a few reviews."

The Prophet was there, as well as a copy of a few other British gossip rags, plus a few of French publications. All of them hosted a picture of Hermione's impromptu kiss from the stroll to dinner.

"All the more believable, then." Draco tried not to look interested, but the fidgeting with his pants hem betrayed him. "Any post?"

"Only what's to be expected from the various imbeciles, you're too good for her, she's too good for you, etc, etc. Pansy collected it all in the fireplace, thoughtful as she is." He gestured to the roaring fire across the room, one that was entirely unnecessary on the warm summer morning.

"She needs to work on her aim then, there's a scorch mark on the carpet by the window." Draco grumbled at his confidante.

Theo was the only one truly aware of the lay of the land at this point. Draco's accidental scheme had been rather haphazardly plotted, and needed some authenticity lent to it from the rest of the Slytherins. He almost felt bad lying to them about his romantic prospects, but he had justified it only as an extension of his usual lies.

It was a flimsy excuse, even if he was only making it to himself. The jump from "I'm fine," to "I'm dating Granger," was a bit like calling a bumblebee a dragon. But it wasn't a point he felt inclined to review. The circus of selling this to generally everyone, while also displaying an aloof, cavalier attitude to the golden girl of Hogwarts was entirely exhausting.

"Blaise knows, I think." Theo interrupted what had been gearing up to be a lovely mid-morning pity party.

"How's that?" Draco couldn't find it in himself to worry much about their impeccable friend knowing. Blaise Zabini had an eye for detail that didn't let much escape. It had never really been a question of 'if' he would find out, but rather when.

"He's Blaise." Was the response Theo offered, obviously in the same line of thinking as Draco. The young men both sat pensively for several more minutes, each lost in an indefinable haze that was only interrupted when the woman of previous discussion shuffled into the room.

When he had woken, Granger was still in the daring black dress from the club. But it seemed upon waking she had changed out of the body hugging number and into the first thing she could reach- namely Draco's rumpled dress shirt from the night before. It hung on her in an overly large fashion that shouldn't have been at all alluring.

With a grumble that signified she was at least cognizant of their existence, she continued on to the dining area. After a moment, there was a bit of a clatter, followed by Hermione's aggrieved cry of "Coffee?!"

Theo smirked at Draco. "Shall you be the white knight, or shall I?"

Draco's glare was the only answer.

xxxxx

After a carafe of the bitter brew and well over a dozen more crepes had been demolished, Hermione had decided to dress for the day. Draco breathed a quiet sigh of relief he hadn't known he was holding. Thankfully Theo found the tact to simply raise an eyebrow at his friend, before dialing up the girls.

When she returned, Hermione was blatantly shell shocked to see the pureblood aristocrat chatting into the cellular device. Her expression turned to remorseful when Theo caught the expression and bit out "We're bigots, not idiots."

Hermione had no response, and thankfully the girls returned from their morning workouts just a moment later.

Draco left her in their company as he went to dress for the day. As he was putting one foot into the fitted jeans he had selected Pansy came barging in, dragging an irritated looking Hermione. Caught in nothing more than his boxers, he raised a challenging eyebrow at the girls.

"Can I help you?" Despite his aim for ambivalence, his mouth tilted at the corner when he spotted Granger's pink cheeks. "Or are you just browsing?"

"Granger needs to change. How could you think of letting her out in this?" Pansy huffed, stomping past him to the closet they were sharing. With hardly any consideration, she yanked out a pastel sundress and shoved it in the bookworm's arms. Draco held back a chuckle as the dark haired hellion stomped back out.

"What is her problem?" Hermione let out a huff of her own, which had a few of her curls dancing in the exhaled air. Draco found himself actively trying not to watch them move.

"We're going out in public, Granger. We have to be presentable." He buttoned on his pants, and reached for a shirt that was inadvertently similar to the tones of Hermione's dress. Completely inadvertent.

"Is that a pureblood rule that I missed? Will I somehow bring down your social stocks if I'm not properly primped?" The revulsion in her voice struck him somewhere he hadn't known he was vulnerable.

He allowed himself a moment to breathe. He needed her, he need her for the plan. She was doing him a kindness and it wouldn't at all work out if he snapped back. After a beat, the thought struck him that she might not even be aware of why it was so important.

"We're trying to sell something, something beyond just you and I as a couple." He finally responded, keeping his back turned so she could dress. "We - the girls, Blaise, Theo and I - we're trying to show the world we're not…"

A bitter sigh slipped out before he could stop it. The rustling behind him had stopped, so he slowly turned to face her. What greeted him was quite a sight. Beyond the dress that fitted her in a way that he was sure his mind would return to later in private, there was a look on her face he couldn't begin to name.

"You're not your parents. You're not your past." She finished the sentence he had forgotten he'd started. Her voice carried a softness he internally cringed at.

"No one needs your pity, Granger. You've just got to play the part while you're here. That's all I need from you." His voice was gruff as he rolled up his sleeves, then grabbed his wand to glamour the fading mark on it.

"You're remarkably wrong Malfoy." The curls swayed again, as she twisted her body to reach for the back of her dress. Before he realized it one of his hands was on her hip, the other gliding the offending zipper up. She caught his eye over her shoulder. "It's not sympathy, it's empathy. I understand trying to live past someone else's expectations of you."

"A hit, a very palpable hit." He turned away before she could see how thorough that hit was.

"I didn't mea-" He felt, rather than saw her hand reach for him. Instead of allowing it to shatter the shaky walls he was managing to hold up, he stepped into the closet, returning after a moment with some wedged sandals to match her sundress. She groaned at the sight of them, and sat heavily on the bed.

He smirked, then cast a cushioning charm on them before helping her into the footwear.

"I never thought of that." She said, more to herself than him. Then refocusing, "Draco-"

"I know." He offered her his best devilishly charming smile, and a hand to help her up.

He could tell she didn't know if he meant it about the shoes, or her apology, and found he didn't want her to quite sort it out. Instead of giving her the time to, he fell back on a trick that baffled most the women he had interacted with in his life. A subtle show of kindness.

A flick of his wand had transfigured a pair of his cuff-links into earrings, and a tie clip into a barrette. With another wordless movement, they all arranged themselves on her gently, eliciting a stunned and mercifully silent response from Granger.

"Come on, they're waiting." He slipped his hand into hers again, and tried like hell not to think of how he knew such charms.

xxxxx

A small part of his brain pointed out that he was wooing Granger. A larger part of it rationalized he was just showing her a good time, treating her kindly for the kindness she was doing him. Another part brought up that he wasn't kind. A final part brought up that maybe he should look into that mind healer mother had been seeing, if he was going to take up talking to himself.

At that, he cut off his internal dialogue. Mother's mind healer was a thought process he did not have the leisure time to spiral down into at the moment. Instead he should be focusing on not losing his fictitious girlfriend in this labyrinth of literature.

He did pause to allow his inner monologue a chance to review the incredible kindness, or incredible stupidity that was taking Hermione Granger on a personal tour of city's best wizarding bookstore. After consideration, he decided the delight that had lit up her face when he showed her the secret entrance was worth a late lunch.

"Merlin's periwinkle puckered…" He muttered, turning a corner and realizing he had lost her again. The wizarding half of the infamous Shakespeare & Company bookstore was just as much a maze as the muggle portion. With a stomp of his foot, a motion he was endlessly ashamed of, Draco wandered back the way he had come toward the register.

She would have to come back this way eventually, he reasoned, and while he waited there was a Theology of Potioneering text he had wanted to peruse on the new releases case.

xxxxx

"So Hermione, how are you enjoying the trip so far?" Blaise's tone was friendly, but Draco had to suppress a twitch none the less. Though his ears were perked, his eyes stayed turned toward the busy street outside.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her gently swirl and sip from the glass of blanc de noirs the waiter had poured the table moments earlier. The sip or her line of thinking seems to satisfy her, and her lips curve into a small smile.

"It's been lovely," she settled the same hand on Draco's thigh, a move that escaped exactly no one. "Draco took me to the most _wonderful_ places today."

The hand on his thigh squeezed, again to everyone's full attention. Draco took his unexpected cue in stride, cupping the back of her neck before settling his arm across the back of her chair. He cast a smile down on her that was mostly adoring, but a fair amount carnal.

Daphne was very intently focused on the menu. Pansy rolled her eyes. Theo laughed outright. Blaise, only raised an eyebrow.

As his hand twisted gently into one of the ever distracting curls near Hermione's collarbone, he spared a thought on how astute the woman was. During the stroll from the apparation point, he had offhandedly mentioned Blaise had a keen eye. Apparently she had taken the remark for what he hadn't intended, but what it was in truth. Zabini was suspicious, and she was providing the Italian man with undercurrents of doubt. She was salvation in a skirt.

"Oh? Hopefully nothing to strenuous." Blaise's subtle challenge was so thinly veiled it was almost painful. Draco regarded him cooly, with his own quirked brow. He had calculated his response when he felt Hermione's voice vibrating through the collarbone he was apparently now stroking. Wait, what?

"Not at all, I've never been more relaxed." She had started stroking his thigh in time with his own fingers movement, and if she kept it up much longer he'd have to readjust his napkin. "I was a bit concerned he might have strained his back, but I continue to learn nothing keeps this wizard down for long."

She was gazing at Zabini through her lashes and for a second he swore she even winked. Salazar in silky sagging- this witch might be his damnation after all. His childhood friend was rising to an occasion himself it seemed, although in a fashion that had yet to be quite so thoroughly implicated. Blaise never backed down from a challenge, and it seemed Hermione was enjoying offering just that.

"I'm afraid the wine has made me rather slow," everyone glanced at his untouched glass as he said it, but Blaise showed no remorse for the poorly crafted lie. "What could you possibly have gotten up to that was both so strenuous and so relax-"

"Oh for fucks sake," Pansy cut him off. "Stop with the games Blaise, they obviously sh-"

"Shakespeare & Company." Hermione slid in, before Pansy could complete the thought on everyone's mind. "Draco took me to a darling bookstore. I'm afraid I found far too many magical texts, and he had to lug them back to the hotel. Whatever did you think I meant?"

Theo laughed louder and harder this time. Pansy grinned at the turn of phrase Hermione had executed. Even Daphne, who's breeding insisted she ignore the previous banter, managed a smile.

"It seems you've met your match!" He clapped Blaise, who looked bitter but amused, on the back.

From there on, the conversation flowed easily. It wasn't until their lunch arrived that Draco realized her hand had been on his thigh the entire time, or that his had been brushing across the back of her neck still.

Chalking it up to some excellent subterfuge, he ignored the tiny part of his brain shouting "DENIAL!" and tucked in to a meal that was very well earned, in his opinion.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

At some point Draco had explained to her that the wedding weeks were divvied up long ago. Originally, the group had drawn straws for who would choose where to eat each meal or plan each evening. But eventually the group had settled into giving each person a day to be more or less in charge of. If the person was feeling especially ambitious (a term Hermione thought was rather ironic given the group), they could plan extracurriculars as well. However dragging the same people through the same preferred tourist destinations season after season wore out, so generally they ended labeling each day something along the lines of 'Shopping' or 'Sightseeing.'

Sundays were the rest day, and Saturdays were typically the wedding day. So other than pre-wedding activities, the plan worked rather well. To preserve the good feelings of all, they rotated who ended up on which day, so no one would repeatedly lose out because of something like parental obligation dinners (which tended to fall on Mondays, apparently).

It turns out this was all a rather long winded way of saying that this time, Tuesday was Blaise's day. Which is why, apparently, they had all ended up in a dark alleyway with the Italian man, watching him stroke a rather odious looking weed that had somehow grown through a crack in the pavement.

Before the grunt of impatience could escape her, the plant had suddenly grown six feet tall. With wide eyes she watched as it continued to heighten, before twisting back down toward the ground in front of them. After a golden buzzing glow, the greenery had settled itself into a peculiar looking doorway. Her mind was whirring to sort out the amount of magic that had been poured into the charm when Draco's drawl broke the air next to her.

"Avante Garde. How horribly cliche, Zabini."

"Not all of us depend on neoclassic goth airs, Malfoy. Try not to let the change of pace shake you so thoroughly." Zabini's shot back through a small smirk, gesturing them through the arch.

Inside was a room that reminded Hermione of one of the cigar clubs she had seen in a film with her mum once. She mentally shook herself before that thought could spawn a wave of complicated feelings. Draco's hand slid on to her lower back, and looking up she saw a striking resemblance to concern flit across his face. Right. Perhaps it hadn't been just a mental shake.

The group checked their cloaks and continued down a paneled hallway. None of the group, besides Blaise it seemed, had been there before. Through a doorway at the end of the hall music could be heard, and she stumbled on her feet at the recognition of it. Jazz? Merlin, she couldn't dance to jazz music. She could hardly dance at all actually.

Draco's hand was now burning at her hip, helping her catch her stride as they entered a room full of swirling skirts and slicked back hair. The roaring twenties was alive and well in a tiny arrondisement of Paris.

Settling into a booth, it wasn't long before the alcohol started pouring. In a rather American nod, there was a multitude of drinks centering on bathtub gin, which she found actually left her with the very vivid sensation of sinking into a warm bath. Despite the relaxing lull of it, and the expert muffling charm on their table that canceled out a lot of the dance floor's chaos, Hermione felt distinctly aware of Blaise's eyes on her.

Theo and Daphne joined the dancefloor quickly, and soon after Pansy found a willing victim of her own. With just the three of them left in the alcove, it didn't take long.

"So little Lioness, I don't think anyone's had the chance to hear the story." Dark eyes pinned her to her seat over the top of an excessively gauche martini glass.

Her second drink had lead to a fizzing sensation throughout most her lower body. It felt rather like a lovely bath of epsom salts, and had driven Hermione to distraction rather quickly. So she was ill equipped with her usual wit when the Italian man pounced. Looking about she realized Draco had left the table, and she could see his precise strides headed towards the bar. So he'd be no help.

It was then that she realized Blaise had been ordering her drinks that night. Carefully she inspected the glass, before narrowing her eyes across the table.

"What's your aim, Zabini?" Her tone belied none of the bite her words implied, at which he tilted his head, inquisitively.

"Curiosity is the lust of the mind, Lioness." His smirk didn't quite reach her eyes, and for a second it chilled her to the bone. For the first time in far too many days, Hermione realized the predicament she had settled herself in. Surrounded by the children of elitists, in a foreign country, under the influence and with no back up.

"Thomas Hobbes." She identified, and felt a familiar ring of pride at his nod. Ten points to the Lioness, then. "He also said gluttony was the lust of the mind. One could argue then, that gluttony and curiosity is one and the same."

"Look around, cub. We're awash in curiosity then by your logic." The smirk on his lips pulled back. She noticed the fizzing sensation was crawling up her body further and squeezed her thighs to push off the distraction.

"De Vries said gluttony is a sign that something is eating us." She sipped slowly at her drink, maintaining eye contact with the darker man. It was a challenge, or perhaps just the response to one. Either way the gesture was noted as intended, she would take what he gave without fear. "What's eating you, viper?"

At that Blaise let out a laugh, a roaring belly laugh that startled her to the point her drink should have sloshed right out of the glass. But instead, it rolled back in with an ethereal air. Charmed stemware, this place was posh.

When he recovered himself, he leveled another trademark smirk at the witch, this time it reached his eyes. After a long moment, he spoke.

"Alright, Lioness, I concede. You've played my game twice now, so I will play one of your own. Gryffindors, they appreciate frankness correct?"

Hermione offered a slow nod, sipping again. The fizzing had passed her belly button, and was becoming entirely too much for this conversation. She would gladly take the reprieve.

"Draco bringing you to this wedding seems rushed. If he has been dating you, a fact I question, it's too new for a public event of this magnitude. If it weren't so poorly constructed, I might think this was a scheme to put the bride in her place - a scheme that's entirely Malfoy-esque and not entirely undeserved." He paused, thoughtful. "Regardless of how you got here, there's a shred of validity to the why. And while I enjoy trying to unravel if the how of it is through plot or blind love, in the end I have a singular purpose. With these things in mind, Lioness, I offer you a warning. I like most men, defend what I consider to be mine. Draco is _my best mate_. Do not give me a reason to go on the defensive. You will not appreciate that side of me, I think."

It was probably the most she had ever heard him speak. Hermione took a minute to let herself enjoy the baritone nature she hadn't known he possessed. As his words arranged themselves through her mind, she found she was the one who had become defensive. The argument was rising up her torso much like the fizzing sensation, but got stuck in her throat when Draco's hand slid across her ribs as he rejoined the table.

"Alright darling?" He asked, and while his face was relaxed, for Malfoy, she could see the faint ghost of worry across it. Since when could she identify these things? Merlin, time to slow down on the martinis. Or speed up, maybe that would dull the headache growing between her eyes.

"Of course." She said it to Draco, but her eyes held Zabini's.

xxxxx

For the rest of the evening Blaise was relatively distant, but all together amenable. It made her rather nervous, which perhaps explained the drinking.

Hermione ended up tossing back several more martinis, her personal excuse was how winded she was after Draco spun her around the dancefloor countless times. Literally spun. Spun and tossed and twirled. Turns out that was the main style of dancing to the ragtime-jazzy blend the goblin band had played throughout the night.

By the time they left the club, she was stumbling drunk, her hands falling low on Draco's hips more often than not when attempting to catch her balance. Daphne and Theo maintained a distance up ahead of them, but Blaise and Pansy were nowhere in sight.

She vaguely recalled Pansy slipping into a dark corner with her dance partner. Not long after Blaise had strode out of a sight. His clipped steps seemed angry, in her opinion, but she was drunk.

Merlin she was so drunk. Tripping again she clung to Draco and blessedly, he realized it was time for a stop. He gently lead Hermione to a wall not far from the appiration point that would take them back to the hotel. In gratitude she offered him a brilliant smile.

"When did you get so considerate?" She hiccuped, feeling a the gin roll in her stomach.

"Your drunk." He offered her a gentle smirk, and she found herself starving for more of it.

"I am. So drunk I won't remember it, so spill Malfoy. Gimme all your secrets." She was satisfied as his smirk stretched into a full smile, accompanied by a chuckle that she considered to be entirely too refreshing.

"It's all an act I assure you." As he stepped back to lean against the wall, she wobbled. In an effort to steady herself she placed her hands on his shoulders. Laughing he reached for her hips, righting her between his spread legs. "And I offer you no secrets. You're too much of a swot to let inebriation prevent an education."

She hummed in agreement. The space between them, or lack thereof was a bit overwhelming. When did the man in front of her become quite such a presence? Perhaps that's why the next words came tumbling out before she even registered them.

"What would you like to educate me on then, Malfoy?" Her tone was huskier than intended, and she could all but see the sensation of it overcome him.

"Oh don't do that, Granger." Draco's voice had dropped an octave as well, and she could feel the warmth of his breath across her collarbone. She couldn't tell if it was causing a heat, or quenching it, and suddenly she felt inebriated in an entirely new fashion. When did her hands find their way to his neck? Why was the hair at the base of his skull so incredibly soft?

Words weren't coming, and in the time they were escaping her, she had unintentionally managed to lean further in to him. One of his hands remained cupping her hip, but the other was buried in her own curls. The thought struck her that he was going to kiss her, and she couldn't quite piece together why that might be a bad thing.

The hand on her hip suddenly shifted down to her arse pulling her in tight, and she felt his lips flitting up the side of her neck. Never would she admit the sound that poured out of her, or the way her hips had shifted at the sensation. Never.

As his mouth reached her ear her internal dialogue began begging, but in a way that was less words and more of an impassioned groan she could feel building in her chest. She felt, rather than saw, the smirk form on his lips as his head lifted. Distantly she realized the groan hadn't been as internal as expected.

"I'm not a good man, Granger. But I won't take advantage of a drunk witch. Especially when she won't call me by my name." His hands landed back on her hip, and he gently guided her away from him.

The sound of irritation wormed its way out of her before she could stop it, but she let him guide her down the alley to the appriation point without comment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** _Sorry lovelies, I'm shorting you a bit here. I'm suffering from end of term chaos and apparently, strep throat. Please take this pittance as an expression of my undying gratitude. This is probably the last truly peaceful chapter for a while, so enjoy.  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

When Draco awoke Wednesday morning, he found himself distinctly aware that her side of the bed was cold. There were two parts of that awareness he committed himself to considering later: the awareness of her, and the distinction of sides. The 'For Consideration' list was getting quite long.

The next moment of awareness greeted him in a rather tilted fashion, vividly flashing a memory of the last time he had woken to a curly haired witch watching him from the foot of the bed. Thankfully 'curly haired witch' might be the only way to compare Aunt Bella and Hermione, and rather than feeling honest terror rack his frame, he only felt…. Well, he was a little terrified of the current witch, but mostly it was amusement.

"I've been thinking," she pronounced, after he had spent almost a full minute blinking up at her.

"Shocking revelation to start the day off on, Granger." His voice was gruff with sleep, and he saw her twitch at the sound of it. Was she afraid of him? Or was the scene from last night not purely fueled by alcohol? Maybe she was twitchy from what smelled to be more of Theo's obsession in the mug clutched between her hands. The entire line of thinking was added to The List.

"Why me?" Typical Gryffindor bravado, pushing past Slytherin snark.

"Why not?" He sat up and reached for her cup, inwardly feeling very well satisfied with her responding huff and release. He saw the faint smudges of where she had sipped earlier on the rim of the cup and for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he chose there to place his own mouth. The liquid was almost instantly invigorating. Muggles had really found a special magic in the potion they called coffee. After a moment of enjoying the drink, he realized she was still waiting for an actual answer.

"You're the last witch I was photographed with." He shrugged. "After that, it wouldn't make much sense to bring someone else."

"The photograph wasn't suggestive of anything other than our being in the same location at the same time." She shifted her weight to the other hip, and he felt his gaze lingering on it remembering the way it had felt in his hands last night. Before she could see the hunger he knew was on his face, he stood and walked toward the closet.

"I disagree," Draco spoke over his shoulder, searching for a garment suitable to the day's plans. "We were on opposite sides of a war, very famously so. Being photographed in a private rooftop conversation insinuates quite a bit, especially when you factor in our less than causal proximity to each other."

He exited the closet to find her right where he left her, staring thoughtfully toward the bed. After a beat, she turned the gaze on him. Draco found himself preening a bit when her eyes caught on his naked torso, and he allowed himself a shameless amount of enjoyment when those hazel orbs traced down his abdomen to the low slung swimwear he had put on.

There were several prized Malfoy heirlooms he would give to have another part of her tracing that path. But instead of offering, he settled a knowing smirk on his face and waited for her to come out of her haze.

When she realized herself, an adorable little gasps escapes her rosy lips. Adorable? Rosy? Really? That thought was added to The List as well. Before he lost himself in the line of thinking, Draco extended the hand from behind his back, the one holding the bikini he'd had Pansy select earlier in the week.

Her bright pink face paled almost instantly, and he tried very hard not to mourn the loss.

"Do you think we can continue this investigation poolside? I fancy a swim."

xxxxx

While she changed, he checked the post. Despite the light conversation with Theo, Draco was concerned. The angle of that photograph meant the photographer had to have been directly across from them in that alley, and Draco was sure they had been alone last night. While he had quite a bit to drink himself, it wasn't as if the scars of war had faded. Even in his most inebriated states he was always aware, how many steps to the exit, how many threats around him. He could recall with perfect clarity where almost every person in the dance-hall last night had kept their wand sheathed. He was always aware, nothing escaped his notice.

So how did he miss a body just a few meters away? A small voice pointed out how he had been a bit preoccupied with the body that had been just a breath away. He had to put down his wand at that thought, before the overwhelming urge to Crucio the mental traitor became too much.

xxxxx

In the end, Hermione didn't end up joining him. They had almost made it to the lift when Pansy's voice had caught them.

He wasn't sure how, but Draco swore pureblood woman had magic in their voices that had the power to physically stop bodies. His mother could call his name and he could feel her hands on his cheeks holding him still. Daphne could speak in the softest tones and he'd feel her hands on his arms, encouraging him to stay put. But Pansy, Pansy's voice could feel like a hand around his neck, challenging him to just give her a reason. While rationally he knew Pansy would never, the effect was still slightly panic inducing.

"Where are you taking her?" Pansy's voice cut through his irritation. While the tone was cool and collected, he could hear the barest shreds of anxiety. Combined with his own rising agitation, it had him unconsciously shifting into an offensive position. It was the barest of movements, and in mirroring Pansy's body language it felt correct. But had Severus been there he would have accused them of gross over-dramatics, he was sure. Taking a deep breath, Draco calmed his racing thoughts, and addressed the problem at hand.

"Volcanic Spelunking, obviously." When Pansy's worry lines deepened fractionally, he dropped the snark. "What's wrong, Pans?"

"Granger's been invited to Hen Night." It was at that point he realized in his posturing he had somehow moved in front of Hermione. As he mentally added his body language was added to the list, Draco found he wasn't entirely excited to review why she inspired some of the points on it.

"Why? I don't even-" Hermione had finally decided to speak, and her voice rang with a dismissal that would have made him laugh, if not for his deep understanding of the problem at hand.

"Why isn't as important as the what. As in what we're going to do about this." At that point Pansy let a hand wave so casually at Hermione that he could see the bookworm's brain trying to sort out if it had been a personal attack or just a conversational gesture.

"Pansy, I know how to make my way through a Hen Night. I can drink creamed shots and wear willy necklaces with the best of them." At Hermione's pronouncement his head swiveled towards her with full focus, peripherally he could see Pansy had reacted the same way.

"Beg pardon, what kind of necklaces?" While it was unlikely both he and Pansy had overheard, benefit of the doubt was something he liked to try on every once in a while. Annually, once a decade.

"Willy necklaces? Necklaces… with… willies? Is that not something done in the wizarding world? Susan had them so I assumed-" Her voice cut off when she realized her audience was turning green.

"Muggles put male genitalia on string and we're the bad guys? Barbarians." Pansy looked entirely disgusted, and had he not been as well, he would have reveled in her bare emotionalism.

"Well they're not real-" Hermione started again, huffing at those irritating curls. He briefly thought about cutting them off in her sleep, but the thought escorted in an urge to crucio himself again. That reaction, plus the swot's ability to inspire self-flagellation were added to The List.

"Granger, no genitalia of any kind will be on display tonight. I think that properly exemplifies why we need to get ready." Pansy's proclamation tore a chuckle from him, one she met with an icy glare. She always got rather, well, pureblooded when stressed. The last time he could remember her using the word 'Exemplifies' was when she was in marriage negotiations with the Zabini family.

Before the empathy could seep in, Pansy had caught Hermione's arm and was dragging her back into the recesses of the suite. Without his entertainment for the day - wait, what? - Draco resigned himself to a morning poolside alone, The List unscrolling through his mind like spilt parchment.


End file.
